The Problem
by Kyoko Kasshu Minamino
Summary: Terry has an unexpected issue with Max. Hilarity and awkwardness ensue. Terry/Max.


**The Problem**

Finals week _sucks_.

I could probably list the reasons why—the stupid block schedule, the endless pages of texts to be analyzed, the long silent hours during which you pray to God for the answers to the questions and swear off premarital sex should He allow you to pass—but none of them compare to what I've been dealing with for the past four days. And it has nothing to do with the so-called "rigorous curriculum."

My problem is about 5'5'', has flaming pink hair, and knows about my nightly duties that involve running around on rooftops in high-tech pajamas fighting criminals.

Don't get me wrong—Max has been possibly the most helpful person in my life. Honest to God, she's like the Pepper Potts to my Tony Stark. I doubt I'd last one week without her because she keeps me in line, makes sure I'm still breathing by the time I drag my ass into bed at whatever ungodly hour I get back home. The weirdest part is that she assumed this role without me asking her to. A year ago, we weren't like this. We were casual friends who hung out every other week or so and ate pizza and laughed at the drunk people trying to play VR games at Rhino's. Once I started being Batman, she naturally adapted into being my best friend: keeping my secret and keeping me sane at the same time. But that's not the problem either.

Since Tuesday, I've been coming to her apartment after patrol, changing out of my suit, and catching up on studying with her. She has excellent notes and she can explain them better than any of my instructors. I need this, badly. Without her, I'd probably flunk every single one of my classes.

My problem is that she keeps wearing my shirt.

It's dumb, really. I've known Max for going on three years and it's no secret that she's completely gorgeous in every way. I've always known, but never really given it any thought because she's my friend. Besides, I've left half of my closet at her house since she's a little closer than home and I crash here every once in a while.

The worst part is that she's not even _trying_ to be sexy. Hell, the shirt itself isn't even sexy—it's just one of my black cotton tees with the scoop-neck thing that she claims shows off my collarbone, although Lord knows why a girl would find that attractive. It's not the shirt. It's the fact that she's wearing it ten times better than I ever could.

So needless to say, I forget that she has been explaining quadratic equations to me for the past ten minutes because I'm staring at her legs—long, smooth, and exposed because beneath my shirt she is wearing boxer shorts—and thinking about how much better that shirt would look on the floor. Which sounds stupid, shallow, and crass but I am a teenaged boy who is currently single and my damn best friend is sixteen different kinds of hot so sue me.

"So does that make sense?"

Her voice finally gets through my thick skull and I blink. "Uh, yeah. It does."

Max rolls her eyes. "You haven't heard a word I said, have you?"

I feign offense. "I was listening."

"Then what's the answer to number four?"

"42."

"Not even close."

"That's the answer to the question of existence, why isn't it the answer to number four?"

"Because the answer to number four is not an integer, genius," she snaps, giving me a sour look.

"What is with you? You've been distracted all week. At this rate, you're going to bomb all the exams."

I clear my throat, glancing back down at the textbook and trying to hide the guilty expression that threatens my face. "Just…tired. It's been a rough week."

She throws a balled up piece of paper at me, which bounces off my forehead. I frown.

"What was that for?"

Max smirks. "You're a horrible liar."

I open my mouth to protest but she just shakes her head. "The truth, McGinnis. Spit it out. I don't have all night."

I frown harder. "I _am_ tired."

"I know you're tired, but that's not what's distracting you."

Slaggit. She knows me way too well. "Promise you won't get mad?"

She casts a suspicious look over me, but nods. I heave a sigh. "Max, you've gotta get out of that shirt."

Silence. Then she very slowly lifts her left eyebrow. I close my eyes for a second. "That…sounded less perverted in my head."

"I'll bet. Why exactly should I lose the shirt?"

I clear my throat again, getting intensely uncomfortable. "It's…sort of distracting."

She glances downward, which of course draws attention to her chest and I almost groan because from this angle, I can just barely see the soft line of her cleavage. This girl is going to be the death of me. "Distracting?"

"Yes. Distracting. So would you mind changing so I can actually get some studying done?"

She shrugs. "I guess I could…but I won't."

It's my turn to arch an eyebrow. "Why?"

Her dark eyes meet mine and there's something playful, almost dangerous in them. "Because I wore it on purpose."

The comment smacks me in the forehead like a ton of bricks, stunning me. I lick my lips, trying to figure out how to word my next question. "Why exactly did you do that?"

Max laughs softly. "You really are slow on the uptake, huh, McGinnis?"

I slide the textbook out of my lap and scoot closer, smirking. "You're just jealous 'cause I'm pretty."

She grins, not moving away when I crawl above her. "You're just jealous that I look better in your shirt than you do."

"No argument there," I murmur right before erasing those last few inches between us. Kissing my best friend should be weird, but it's not. It's…_fantastic_. Her lips are soft and plump and perfect in every way imaginable. I'm suddenly jealous of the shirt she's wearing, of how it gets to explore her sumptuous curves, keep her warm, make her feel safe because that's what I've been wanting to do for months now. And judging by how she's pressing that amazing body up against mine, she's been wanting to let me keep her safe. I really am slow on the uptake.

Several minutes later, I remember that I need to in fact breathe and break away for a second, my voice deeper for reasons that we both know and probably won't discuss any time soon. "We really should get back to work."

"Definitely," she mutters, idly running her fingers through the hair on the nape of my neck and unknowingly giving me heart palpitations. We stare at each other for a handful of seconds. I finally shrug.

"One more year at Hamilton High wouldn't kill me."

She giggles. "You are awful. I could always change."

"If you take that shirt off, you won't be putting another one on until morning."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. McGinnis?"

"Are you seducible?"

"We'll just have to see about that."

She tugs me down to her mouth again and the rest of the night melts away.

FIN

**A/N:** I have no idea where this came from, but I hope you like it. xD


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